Classic Poem

Chorus

Ho ro black laddie, ho ro eile,
Ho ro black laddie, ho ro eile,
Ho ro black laddie, ho ro eile,
How dear to my spirit,
The laddie, might that be.

Is Cupid not sportive,
Consorting wi' his mater?
The eyeless god sparkling
Deems matter for laughter
To cast at a venture
In any place next him
His little sharp arrows
Where'er he can fix them.

A priest in these regions,
A reading man pious,
By faith was defended,
And prudence his bias;
'Twas the chief rule he made
That he taught nothing heinous,
And no offerings be laid
On the altars of Venus.

When the goddess beheld this,
The churchman so hardy,
Not heeding her mildness,
Her love disregarding,
She sent her small fosterling
Treacherous, eyeless,
His Reverence to try and bring
Out of his shyness.

When the giddy god came
Round him, little and saucy,
He threw a dart hame
From the cattle-fold lassie;
The priest in a blaze went
That time would but foment,
Were it not that he yielded
To Venus that moment.

'Twas the Levite's confession,
When he had to own that smart,
That all herds would profit
By wedding a sweetheart;
And the lass of the fold
In his eyes was so taking,
She remained in his heart
Whether sleeping or waking.

The plan the priest took
Her good graces contriving,
When he was on a morning
In his chamber her shriving,
Was to take her and set her
On a small level settle,
And ere he absolved her
To kiss her a little.